Sex on the Beach
by wwgost
Summary: A Trilogy of ficlets set somewhere between the chapters of Busted.  Vincent and Rude chill out in Costa. Warnings for smut and lots of booze.
1. Sticky

Sticky

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><p><em>Down here the river meets the sea<br>And in the sticky heat I feel ya' open up to me  
>Love comes out of nowhere baby, just like a hurricane<br>And it feels like rain  
>And it feels like rain-John Hiatt—Feels Like Rain<em>

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><p>Vincent Valentine was drunk. It didn't happen often and it took a lot to do it, but he was shitslapped drunk and it felt pretty damn good.<p>

They had been drinking—quite a lot as it happened—in a Costa pub to celebrate a successful joint mission between the Turks and random members of AVALANCHE. Well, less a mission than an accidental cooperation, Vincent thought. Cloud had come in to save Reno's ass and he had come in to save Cloud's ass and before anyone knew it, yo ho the gang's all here. And now both gangs were at the Pink Pony Pub in their bathing suits, drinking as if they had saved the world once again.

Who knows, maybe they had. He was starting to lose track. His last clear memory was trying to help Rude drink a bottle of whiskey that Reno had bought. He remembered the quirk of an eyebrow over sunglasses and the hint of a sensual smile as he shoved the bottle between them, and the warmth that settled in his stomach even before the first shot was poured.

Five months of being lovers had not cooled _that_ fire.

They had left the Pony and slogged down the dark beach to Rude's mother's house, only a ten minute walk from the pub. _Correction_, Vincent thought. _A ten minute walk _to_ the pub._ Walking back, inebriated, shoes full of damp sand, it was taking considerably longer. He paused under a bridge and toed off the damned things, cheap canvas flats from a souvenir shop. He'd buy more in the morning. So caught up was he in his task, undertaken with the persistent dedication of a drunk, that he tripped over Rude's legs and faceplanted in the sand. Rude caught at the open whiskey bottle in one swipe and saved it. "You looked like you could use a break." He gathered himself up off the beach, hoping to collect some kind of dignity, and sat next to his lover.

"Thanks. 'S hot. Sticky." He took a sip, or tried to. The bottle wouldn't hold as steady as it had earlier.

"Um, Vin? Are you drunk?" He pulled away the bottle in mid sip, leaving a drop of the amber liquid to sit tantalizingly on Vincent's lower lip, then leaned in to suck lightly at it.

"Ruuuuuuuuuuuuude," he moaned, half whining at the absence of his drink and half in growing arousal at the teasing licks and bites. Rude was so nice and steady, so easy to hold on to. Maybe he'd just stay here.

"Gods, you make me so hard when you say my name like that." Rude took off his glasses and tossed them somewhere in the direction of Vincent's shoes. He deepened the kiss, grinding the evidence of his statement against his lover's hip. It began to rain. It wouldn't last long. It never did; evening showers in Costa del Sol blew over in an hour or so. But in the meantime no one would be out. No one would disturb them. Curtains of water came down on both sides of the bridge, sparkling in the boardwalk lights, giving them all the privacy that they needed. The heat built in their kisses, in the damp air around them as they rocked into each other. Vincent, feeling much more sober all of a sudden, reached into Rude's swim pants and took him in hand gently. But his lover thrust up demanding more, harder, faster, and he whispered _yes_ into a pierced ear as he gave it with his body. Finally Rude stiffened and cried out, coating Vincent's hand and leaning into him with relief.

Vincent lay back, grinning and licking his fingers, pleased with his handiwork. "Quit that unless you want more work to do," his sated lover grumbled from the sand. He shrugged. Turning Rude on was fun. He liked it. The thrill of bringing him pleasure made something clench in his chest, made his heart race. The ache in his own groin was a small price to pay. That is, until Rude's own hand settled there. "And for you?" The heat in his voice and eyes was heavier than the rain in the air. Vincent couldn't speak at first but was mesmerized by that soft mouth, the damp tongue darting along its bruised lips.

"Suck me." It wouldn't take long, that was for sure. He burned, where Rude touched him through is light cotton beach pants. Much longer, and those would be replaced tomorrow along with the shoes.

Rude went to untie the drawstring on his pants and hesitated. "I'm not sure of my experience here…" Vincent hid a smile; sober, Rude never would have admitted such a thing.

"Damn, what do they teach in the barracks these days?" Vincent laughed. "Just do it. Trust me, at this point, it will be the shortest blow job in history anyway. Stop being such a damned overachiever." He knew that was telling Rude to do the impossible, however. The man was a perfectionist, even if they were shitfaced drunk under a bridge in Costa del Sol in the middle of a thunderstorm. Vincent mused that he would be surprised if the man didn't pull out his phone and google "Perfect Blow Job" first.

Blissfully, he didn't, and simply lowered his mouth to his task, starting with a few experimental licks around the head and then taking him into his mouth oh so gently, swirling his tongue over and over. Vincent didn't want to resort to playing director but finally had to thrust his hips, praying Rude would get the hint. He moaned in pleasured relief when the man began to suck in earnest, stroking with his hand in tandem. Gods, it felt so good, the warmth finally beginning to pool at the base of his cock.

"Rude!"

"Hmpf?" Of course the man wouldn't talk with his mouth full. Vincent wondered when the Turks had installed a finishing school.

"If you don't want to swallow, this would be a really good time…" He never completed the sentence. Rude pressed down deeper, stroking him until speech was completely beyond him. He felt the sweetness, the pressure building until finally with a groan that pulled from his very soul, he emptied himself into Rude's mouth. And then, nothing but the rain and the waves around him, and the sound of his own heart.

When he could finally sit up, Vincent made a lame attempt at brushing the sand off his ass and pulled up his pants. They passed the bottle back and forth in companionable silence until, when the rain stopped, they stood and walked carefully down the beach toward home.


	2. Sand

Sand

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><p><em>And now I must confess, I could use some rest<br>I can't run at this pace very long  
>Yes it's quite insane, I think it hurts my brain<br>But it cleans me out and then I can go on—Jimmy Buffett, Trying to Reason with Hurricane Season_

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><p>Rude opened his mother's refrigerator, seriously considering sangria for breakfast. Whiskey for supper hadn't been so bad, had it? In the end he reached for orange juice and started the coffee pot. His mother would be in town most of the day, leaving him and Vincent in the house alone and putting off the awkward "So ma, we're more than friends" conversation that he had been dreading.<p>

Not that his mother would mind. He suspected she already knew, and if anything she was almost too eager for her son to find-someone-and-settle-down. She had been giving him that mother look. It wasn't Vincent's first visit to the beach house and in spite of the whole guest room ruse, mothers knew things. Partners knew things too; he had seen a calculating expression in Reno's eyes of late, as well. It wasn't like he had anything to hide, so much as he didn't really know what he was doing. He'd had no idea what he was getting into in the beginning and he sure as fuck didn't know now. But the way that smooth slender body fit against his, curled against him like a wisp of smoke, it was part of him now. And never one for words, he couldn't for the life of him figure out how to announce to the world that he was in a committed relationship that had been going on for nearly half a year.

He glanced out the kitchen window. A row of beds lined one side of the L-shaped screen porch, a common feature on older beach houses. It was the only way to sleep on oppressive summer nights, at least for those who couldn't afford to encase their houses in glass to air condition them. Vincent still lay on one, where he had fallen drunkenly the night before, part of a pillow shoved over his eyes in a losing attempt to keep daylight at bay, his cotton beach clothes rumpled from their tryst under the bridge.

His mother would have walked by him, on her way out of the house.

Yeah, she knew.

Sighing, he poured a second glass of juice and carried it out. "Breakfast?" He brushed back ropes of long black hair from a pale face, now wrinkled with sleep and crusted here and there with damp sand. Pushed aside the near empty bottle of whiskey so he could sit.

"Nnnft." He took the glass of juice and downed it in one swallow and blinked a few times. "Get back in bed with me." He moved to unfasten the brass gauntlet and dropped it to the floor, leaving his scarred and mangled arm open to the beach air. It was something he almost never did; he confessed to Rude once that it made him feel defenseless, naked. "That thing's gonna be fun to get the sand out of," he muttered. He seemed to feel safe enough now as he slipped back into sleep, trusting Rude to defend him if necessary.

Rude watched him for a time. They would have to get up soon. The sun was climbing higher in the sky and even the sea breezes would not keep them cool for long. Last nights clothes smelled still of the sea, of salt and well, sex. They were beginning to sweat in the increasing heat but neither wanted to move. Rude only brushed his lips against Vincent's forehead, and scattered the sand still sticking to his cheek down into the inky blackness of his hair. His bare feet made him look vulnerable, like the lack of gauntlet. He lay there a while longer. Just a little while longer, he decided, holding this beautiful man against him, feeling him breathe. _Like the ocean._

"We should go in. We need to shower."

Vincent sat up, grabbed the gauntlet with his good arm and knocked it against his leg to dislodge as much sand as possible, and padded through the dark house to the bathroom. "You know, this isn't like your shower back home, Vin. We aren't gonna fit."

"Sure we are. We just won't get that clean." He kissed Rude, very thoroughly. "Planned on getting you all sweaty again anyway. Didn't you say we had the place to ourselves?" They managed to soap and rinse each other, more or less, and Vincent moaned into the hands shampooing his hair.

Rude grinned. "You like that?"

"Gods, I'm never going to be able to go to the hairdresser again without embarrassing myself." They switched places so Rude could rinse out the shampoo, and he took advantage of it by touching every inch of Vincent's wet body. When they could stand no more, they slipped out into the bedroom, lit only by the open window. "Want to be inside you so damn bad."

Rude didn't reply, only handed his lover a bottle of lube from his bag and stretched out on the bed, hands under his head. He watched, trying not to moan in want, as Vincent leaned in for a passionate kiss but finally lost the battle. He gasped into the long wet hair, steamy now with the heat of their bodies, when he felt his lover's fingers prepare him and finally, groaned with relief as Vincent entered him.

"So beautiful. You are so beautiful." His voice was raspy, broken even to his own ears. He thought he caught Vincent's trademark _are you kidding me_ smirk before that too was wiped away in raw lust as he thrust into him again. And again. Until Rude saw white heat explode behind his eyes and came into his own hand, Vincent following soon after. They lay quietly for a while on the soft white sheets, sea breeze playing on their soaked skin. Rude traced a single index finger over closed eyes, perfect face, soft lips.

It was turning into one hell of a vacation.

A second shower later, they were sitting on the lanai sharing a pitcher of mojitos when Reno walked up, bearing his sunglasses and Vincent's shoes. "Lose something, partner?"

"Thanks, was a little drunk getting home last night." If Reno thought anything of Vincent's presence on the lanai, he said nothing. They talked shop for a few minutes before Reno scurried off, eager to get back to his own member of the AVALANCHE dating pool.

Rude chuckled to himself. This sleeping with the enemy thing was getting to be a habit. Vincent gave him a sleepy look. "Any more limes around here? I'm in a tequila mood."

"I could scare some up." Rude moved off to get the shot glasses as he heard the screen door slam. His mother had returned with dinner. Soon enough they would both be back in Edge, trying to wash the smell of sunscreen out of their clothing and the nostalgia from their minds, wondering when their friends' suspicion would finally get the better of them. For now, it just didn't matter. For now it was just them and the taste of limes, of stolen passion and endless white sand.


	3. Stars

Stars

X

_Blossom for me rose  
>You're the picture of my love<br>Blossom for me rose  
>Stretch out underneath the stars<br>And when tomorrow comes  
>I will hold you up—Ryan Adams, Blossom<em>

X

Vincent curled into the end of the porch swing and sipped on his sangria. He hadn't left Rude's family beach house in three days. He'd meant to, he just hadn't quite gotten around to it. He'd staggered down there, drunk, after a celebration at a local pub and while normally he'd have rejoined Cloud and the others, he just hadn't found it in himself to move. Alcohol, warm sun, and sex seemed to have anchored him to the spot.

He was comfortable. It was a new sensation, like a warm heaviness settling in him. He was not a man accustomed to being stationary. He had spent his entire adult life fueled by horror, tragedy, or the avoidance of people shooting at him. This…this was new. And not completely unpleasant. A finger of his claw hand traced a drop of condensation on the glass and let it drip to the wood on the swing. From the kitchen he could hear his lover's voice rise in protest. "Ma! I don't need…" and the rest was lost as the argument turned into another room. It ended soon enough, for it was quiet when the small woman brought him another drink. She shot him a look that said he was welcome in her home, but if he broke her son's heart his testicles would be sliced up for an appetizer at her next bridge party.

He thought Rude's mother would have made an excellent Turk.

The man himself finally joined him on the swing. "Your mother figure things out?"

"Yes, I have been on the receiving end of a good two hour lecture on treating you correctly, bringing you home see her on a regular basis, and so on and so forth. As though she thinks I'm going to leave you out on a dog walk to drink from rain puddles."

"Just leave the kibble bag open." He stretched out his legs over Rude's lap, leaning his head back over the swing's chains even though he knew he'd sacrifice a few chunks of hair for that decision. "I don't want to go back tomorrow."

"Vin, it's not like you have a job."

"I know, this is just nice." Though he was feeling a bit like a bum. He hadn't worn shoes or real clothes in nearly a week and had been using someone else's shower. Standards dropped fast in Costa.

"For you. She doesn't bring me drinks." They smiled at each other. The sky had cleared from the early evening thunderstorm and was a brilliant sapphire blue, lit by a full moon and a million stars. "C'mon."

"What?" Vincent was none too keen on leaving his porch swing paradise. He thought his ass might have actually fused to the cushion; he'd been there since supper.

"I want to go look at the stars." He led Vincent off the porch and down the beach to the pier, stopping only for a thorough kiss once they were out of the illumination of the house lights and unlocking the small boat house at the end.

"I thought we were looking at the stars?"

"We are." Rude cleaned a window and pulled his lover over to a bench, covered by canvas and old sails. "See? Stars." He began licking and biting Vincent's neck, nibbling his ear, trailing his hand up the inner edge of his thigh. "Vin, what do you think people do in boathouses?"

The obvious answer was "store boats" but Vincent had not grown up in Costa del Sol, coming of age under the noses of watchful parents who had to pretend to not notice what their young sons were doing. A boathouse was a convenient meeting place now, as it was then. Vincent turned and opened his mouth on a hungry kiss, straddling Rude's more muscular form, reaching down to stroke him through is pants.

"Mmmm, that got you in trouble the other night."

"I don't remember it being much trouble." He went back to attacking Rude's mouth, pulling off both their shirts to press flesh against flesh. It was their last night at the beach. For all their urgency to touch each other, neither wanted to rush this. After a time of endless exploration, Rude pushed him gently off his lap and took off his shorts, then pulling off the drawstring beach pants that had been Vincent's uniform since they had arrived.

"Bend over the bench," he whispered suggestively in the gunman's ear. Vincent grinned. He felt deliciously naughty, somehow, sneaking around a dark boathouse late at night, staring out at the stars while his lover caressed him from behind. He breathed in the smell of dust, old wood, and Rude. He knew he would carry it with him his whole life. His reflections were cut short by the feeling of cool, slicked fingers pressing up into his entrance, stretching and massaging him until he groaned in impatient arousal. "Is it okay if I take you like this?"

Rude could ask the stupidest questions, sometimes. "_Yessss_." Rude entered him in one slow thrust and Vincent thought his fingers would dent the wood in the windowsill. He pushed back into his lover's body, needing more, feeling the stretch, the ache. Feeling it until it was all he could do not to scream with it. "Touch me," he finally rasped.

He did. Vincent clung to the window as Rude hammered him from behind, pumped at him from the front, and the sensory overload tore at him until he just prayed his legs would not give way. He heard as though from a distance Rude's whispered endearments—strange, one would not expect them from such a quiet man—words that flowed over him until both their breath turned ragged and Vincent felt his heat filling him from inside. He threw his head back and cried out, covering Rude's fingers with his release, thrusting until he came down from his high.

He felt cool kisses across his back, and a beach towel offered to him. A clean one, untouched by the dust that coated everything else here. Okay, so Rude had planned this in advance. He grinned, too sated to care, and allowed himself to be pulled down into an embrace against the wall.

"Just how many people have you invited out to look at the stars, Rude?"

"Hush. You seemed to enjoy the view out the window enough." Rude smiled and pulled him out the door, never mind they were clothed in only their skin. It was late into the night, no one would see the two figures as they dove off the end of the pier into the warm water.

"Rude…"

"Hmmm?" He spit out a mouthful of salt water and kissed Vincent, holding him to his chest.

"I'm really glad we started this."

"Me too." They floated in silence for a while, looking up at the night sky, before climbing back up the pier to retrieve their clothing and going back to the house, creeping like ghosts under the night sky.


End file.
